A Hope in Hell
by PenNameless1994
Summary: The second Great Prophecy plays out, and yet again, Percy is not the hero.  Only some mild language
1. Chapter 1

**So... this is my first Percy Jackson fanfiction. Guess we'll see how it goes. Just give it a chance. Any construction criticism is welcome. There is some language. **

**I don't own jack-didly. **

I am Pandora. It's a sucky name, I know, but, hey, if we don't have hope, what else is there? I just really hope (yes, that somewhat-of-a pun was intended) that I don't end up unleashing unimaginable horrors on mankind. Of course, my namesake already did that, so I have to wonder: what else is there left to unleash? Nobody answer that.

My story begins with the union of two powerful demigods: a son of Hades and daughter of Demeter who had a child – here's the surprising part- together. That girl went on to marry a son of Aether. They, in turn, had a daughter who married a son of Erebos; together, they had a son who did not marry but had a child with a daughter of Hemera. The son of that union got thoroughly tired of the crap and married a mortal, to whom he remained very loyal. Their son unknowingly married the daughter of Nyx, once again bringing the family line into the eyes of the fates. (Not much more now) The next generation married into humanity again (I think to maintain any genetic possibility of sanity), but that, of course didn't last very long. A son of Ananke married into the family, followed by son of Chronos the next. Of course, these were all (excluding the mortals and that very first generation) the demigod children of some very minor gods, so the family tree was basically forgotten/ignored by the gods of Olympus. The fact that the children of demigods never go to camp anyway helped us to fade into obscurity; that privilege is reserved for the children of gods only (Way to make the rest of us feel appreciated!). So, a good eleven generations after the first lovely couple doomed us all came my mother, daughter of a daughter of…. Well, who really knows… and that son of Chronos a few long-winded sentences ago. My mother was beautiful beyond all belief and gifted, too. She had the most beautiful singing voice in the world. She was also ridiculously contrary, but that was probably due to her lineage. It was a small wonder that one or two gods paid attention to her.

Apollo was her first suitor. The creep could hear her melodic voice as she sang in the shower. Needless to say, I never requested that bedtime story very much. My mother, wonderful woman that she was, managed to resist that god's charm. According to her, his verses were never very good for a god of poetry, anyway.

Then came the god-man who (almost literally) stole her heart. Hermes was all she'd dreamed of and more. He was quite dashing and always returned her phone calls. Of course, he was always on the go and eventually left my mother with me.

So, here I am. What the hell do I do now?

Basically, I'm a freak o' nature. Small wonder that these words are coming from a demigod, but I'm special. (Yes, Mommy did say that; however, the fact that she did is beside the point)

Demigods are not supposed to live long enough to have children. Heck, they are not even supposed to live long enough to fall in love- or lust for that matter. The point is they are not supposed to live long at all. The oldest half-blood ever, a daughter of Zephyr, lived to be thirty-seven. Basically, the monsters found her really hard to catch. So, the children of minor gods do not even make it very far. The children of major gods, the Olympians, can just forget about it.

I was not supposed to happen, but that fact remains that I did.

What does it all mean? Not much, really. Divine lineage basically fades out in the next generation, excluding some attention problems and natural inclinations that vaguely hint at the aspects of whichever god, which is all fine and good because I'm not entirely sure how mixed up my blood would be otherwise, but my family (Why me?) just had to be special. Never before had the essence of the gods become so intertwined with humanity, especially over such a long period of time .For example, my mother, though deemed a human, would almost have been able to pass for a demigod, except for the fact that her afore-mentioned contrariness made it impossible to connect her with any divine being.

As for me, I could almost pass for a god(dess. Go feminism and proper term-ing!). You'd have to be blind in one or both eyes, almost completely deaf, have no feeling in any somatic cells, and never actually seen a god before ( not that you could if you were blind) to actually believe I was one, but I was the closest any "mortal" had gotten to immortal in a very, very, very long… ever.

And, (drumroll, please!) my genealogy has almost nothing to do with what happened to Camp Half-Blood, but isn't that how all the great stories start? Don't answer that.

So here's a shocker for 'ya: I knew Luke. I knew him very well. If the truth be told, I still know him. How, or maybe even why?

We sit together on the fields of Hades, burning in a veritable Hell. There's still hope, though. We managed to strike a deal with the Lord of the Dead himself. When one of his children is most in need of help, we get to go back (at the age we died and everything), on the condition that we get the little bugger out of whatever harm it happens to be in- and that time is coming soon. I just hope we don't screw everything up, or this time around, there may be nothing left in that sad little box.

Luke and I don't actually have an eternal punishment, other than being in this wretched place, that is, which I suppose is punishment enough. Instead, we stare at each other and constantly relive the wrong in our lives. Mine comes down to a single moment.

I could not stop him. I was there, see, when Luke stole the Lightning Bolt at the very beginning of the whole damn mess. I told him not to, to put it back. I couldn't understand what was making him act so selfishly. Admittedly, the children of Hermes steal all the time, but this, this was going too far. I pleaded, making him promise to return the bolt to Zeus with an apology ( a unique touch, considering I am my father's child), and I turned a blind eye when he did not.

I was there when he enchanted the shoes and forged the shield. He knew I knew, too, because he began poisoning my food with the venom of the same scorpion he would try to use to kill that Jackson kid, and I just let it go- right up until the night I saw him getting that damn scorpion into place. The entire situation had flown just a little too far.

I challenged him, right then, in the forest. The fight lasted for ten or fifteen minutes. He was good, but I was better, despite the fact that I had been poisoned for months. He lost his footing, and as he fell forward, my sword cut much deeper than I had meant for the sharp edged-blade to do. Luke was dying.

I saved him- and doomed the world. I filched supplies from the Apollo cabin (the trusting fools did not know how to lock up properly), and with some luck (as I thought at the time) and my own semi -(screw simply demi-) godly skill, Luke healed completely an hour before the sun rose. In that gray hour, he killed me. For him, my actions signified I was a liability to be eliminated. Too weak, from the poison , the fight, and the healing, I was not able to stop him from cutting me down. I was unable to even will myself to not die as I had done so many times before.

I failed. I didn't stop him when I could, and it was sin enough to land me in Hell. But, hey, at least I had a consolation: that bat rastard (and you know what I mean) was here too, feeling just as guilty and just as deserving as I.

**Hm... thoughts, comments, concerns? Too much? I'm trying to involve characters we know, if not love. Honestly, I could use some reviews. Any opinion is fine. Pay attention to the little arrow!**

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	2. Chapter 2: I get the Hell out of there

**A/N: Some Minor Changes to this. I realized that I had the time frame wrong. Oops, sorry. :( Feeling the shame right now. I also found a map of Camp Half-Blood, so what Pandora sees is changing a little bit, too. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Please Review. **

Tim e loses all meaning in Hell. For most of the damned, there's no fricking way out. Once trapped, time doesn't matter. Only the masochistic wonder just how long it had been since they had even a glimpse of light, but most of us just settle with the pain we already have instead of creating more.

I guess that means Luke and I do enjoy our own pain then. We would like nothing more than to ignore the passage of time, carry on reliving the worst moments of our lives. However, because we alone have that chance of getting out of this hellhole, we keep up with the years. He joined me just under two years ago, and he sent me here (Well, he killed me. If I had just stopped him, or let him die, I would not be here.) almost three years before that.

I wonder what the world is like now. My mother must know I'm dead, and my friends must, too. There was this guy I really liked. I wonder if any of them know where I am now. I would give anything just to see their faces, but I know that, even going back, I won't be able. I'll have to create a new identity and, with it, a new life with which to make amends for my mistake. I'm dead to them and, for the moment, to myself. I wonder if they hate me. I wouldn't blame any of them. I hate me.

Across from me, I can see Luke's face. I can see the pain etched into lines around his mouth and eyes. He keeps the company of guilt and regret, same as I do. Every flinch of his multiplies my own hurt, knowing that if I had stopped him when I had the chance, the horrors of his memories would never have been. Though he committed the deeds, each and every life lost has become my responsibility as well. Each of us has an equal weight to bear.

Five years. Five years since grass, since sunshine. Five years without clouds in the sky. Five years without a gods-blessed breeze. Fiveyears without speaking. Watching Luke's face is the most human contact I get, although I suppose we are better described as wraiths. Five years, and I wonder how much longer.

Not long, apparently.

Hades's aura precedes him into our little fenced-in section of the underworld, which, overall, looks like a grid containing the worst offenders of the underworld. Luke and I share a glance before getting to our feet as quickly as possible, which actually is not that quick, considering that we had been sitting for a very long time. In any case, it will not do to be sitting when Hades arrives. He does not appreciate not being shown "the proper respect." I suspect that he has big brother issues.

The guards on the watchtower of the barb-wire fence salute as the darkest of all gods walks through our gate. The hem of his robe brushes over the black polished shoes crunching on the water-less soil. I can see the faces of the damned embroidered into his black clothing and imagine hearing their faint screams. He stops immediately before us, glaring down, black eyes revealing nothing of his purpose.

"Niece, nephew." His mouth twists into a small smirk as he gives the address. I wonder if he thinks he is honoring us by referring to us as family or if he is silently laughing at the idea.

"Uncle." Luke and I answer in the same dubious tone. We are unsure; a visit from Hades rarely bodes well.

"Follow me." As Hades turns on his heel and strides of the enclosure, we follow. It has been so long since I have left the Fields of Punishment. I actually have not been out of them since I passed through judgment the day I died, but today, tonight, or whenever it is, I am almost there, almost to some sort of freedom. I do not slow my pace as we pass flowing volcanoes that sear Luke's and my face with heat or the hellhounds that never stop chasing their targets but spare a snap of their jaws for us or any of the other various tortures that Luke and I never endured but suffered for the lack of. Yes, I would have rather endured walking through a cacti patch naked than think of my errors for eternity. The pain would have been less.

I take my last step (hopefully) and leave the Fields of Punishment. Even the insufferably bland Fields of Asphodel are a relief after _that_ place. Across the black grass, I can see what must be our destination. The Palace of Erebos, center-point of the kingdom of death, is barely visible. Firelight flickers from windows and reflects off the jewel-fruits in the garden, but the walls are obsidian and fade in with the darkness of the cavernous underworld.

Hades marches up the stone path, mounts the stairs, and sweeps through the grand double doors of burned-black wood into his residence, with me on his heels and Luke a few feet behind me. Our little group stops in the foyer, where a fire burning at the far end casts light on the mirrors glittering all around the walls. I find the abundance of reflective surfaces unusual; Persephone does not like her appearance at all in the winter, when she stays here. The Lord of the Dead stands in front of the fireplace, and his silhouette seems to glow as he announces,

"The time has come." Excitement bubbles up in my stomach. This could really be it. I could be going back to the glorious misery of my life as a demigod. I am getting light-headed.

"The two of you will return to protect my son. He is facing a graver peril than he knows and will need some, ah, extra assistance," Hades's continued speech screws up my moment. I glare at him.

"How exactly will we provide this 'assistance'?" I put as much attitude as I could into the question, which is not easy considering that I am back-sassing a god. The malicious grin that crosses his face then unnerves me. My hand go on my hips as I meet Hades's gaze evenly. He does not back away, not that I really expect him to do so.

"It really is cute that you think the two of you will stay together." I am aghast. Not only has Hades, Hades for the gods' sakes, just said "cute" but also revealed that Luke and I are to be separated. Even though I hold no great love for my murderer, I need someone to watch my back, and I know Luke will never betray me- again. His guilt is enough to ensure that. Suddenly, I hear a voice from my back and to my right, so familiar. I have not heard that tenor since it apologized insincerely for killing me. Luke is speaking, lightly, almost pleasantly,

"Not together?"

Hades turns to face us at last.

"No, not together. You will be of better use to me separately. Now, if we may get down to business?" I have never liked Hades when he is cold and calculating. I would much rather face angry gods; they tend to make mistakes, which means that demigods tend to live. This god in particular does not wait for our response; he continues with his business, as we knew he would, regardless of our preparedness.

"Niece." He turns his black-eyed gaze on me. "I believe you will go first." This does not, of course, sit well with me. I want to know what is going on right now.

"Where am I going, Uncle?" I put as much derision into the last word as humanly possible.

"That is for me to know," he pauses for dramatic effect, even though I know what is coming, "and for you to find out, but before you go..." He stretches an unnaturally white hand forward, allowing a single cold finger to press against my forehead. I feel a sense of power razing through me from the point where he touched me to the bottom of my soles. If I were not dead, I probably would be shaking from physical shock.

As Hades retracts his hands, I extend my own. They have retained their shape, but the coloring seems off, like they are paler by a shade or two. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Luke regarding me with the slightest interest. I turn to face him and, in doing so, catch sight of a mirror.

I am paler- much paler. My blue eyes have darkened to straight black, and my previously fair hair matches them in color. I no longer resemble my father. In fact, I look much more like Hades. The mirror girl's mouth hangs open, and I shut it for her before rounding on the god.

"What the hell did you do, Hades?" I scream. He only smiles. I am getting really sick of his damn smiles.

"Just a little something to help you fit in," is his sinister reply.

"Why, you-" He cuts me off, shoving a black backpack in my hands.

"Stay in contact. Good-bye now." The room starts fading out, but I am madder than hades.

"Don't you dare!" I get to shriek once before everything is gone.

And, within moments, I can see again. I am at Camp, right outside the Big House, too. Oh, how I missed it! I can remember the nights I spent on the porch, talking to Chiron about fate and destiny. The stars… do they still look the same? I start to turn to see, but now I can feel again. I have a body. I have skin. I have weight.

The strangest feeling in the world after four years of death is realizing that you have substance. I can breathe, and I do, feeling the muscles of my lungs contract and the rise of my shoulders as air rushes down, filling me with my first new taste of air. It is warm, meaning it is summer, and _heavy_. It is too thick. I am not used to it. The pressure outside my regenerated body is too much as well. My eyes start to ache; my ears follow soon after as the silence pushes on them. The world begins to spin. Colors blur. Through my failing vision, I am still able to see the lights cut on and swamp the porch as the door to the Big House opens. The harsh white hurts eyes that are not used to color. I hear the soft _clip-clop_ of hooves as a large figure moves to shield me from the pain. Then there is a gasp.

"It can't be- Pandora Dayton! You're supposed to be dead!" I am surprised he recognizes me with the makeover my "uncle" gave me.

"Chiron." I have enough strength left to acknowledge my former mentor before I collapse completely.

In, out. In, out. Breathing is not that difficult, almost natural. One in, one out. I can do this. I want to. I want to live, to be me again- right after I finish with Hades's brat. Still breathing, I crack one eye open. Chiron is looking down at me from his seat in the wheelchair. I am glad to see the old thing.

"You're supposed to be dead," he tells me sternly. He does seem to be rather stuck on that point.

"I can't say I died on purpose, although I wasn't exactly opposed to coming back." I say drily. The centaur inhales sharply. Only at that moment do I realize that my death might not ever have been confirmed. Up to this, it was all speculation.

"How?" Chiron whispers, and I know he if referring to my return. He seems in awe. I suppose awe is fair enough. Nobody has ever come back from the dead, per say. One or two have attempted it (and failed, I might add.). A few more from Elysium have been reborn, but Luke and I are to be the first to ever come back, with Hades's blessing. (Lucky me! Can you feel the sarcasm?) In response, I shrug my shoulders, then smile at the natural feeling of bunching muscles.

"Can't really say. I sure wasn't expecting the transition to be that rough, though." I move my arms experimentally, savoring the sturdy cotton weave against my skin. I shift, getting into a position that will allow me to sit up.

"And the change in appearance?" I grunt, pushing down on my hands, using my abdomen and upper arms to force my torso to rise from the camp cot, and grin at the results. It would seem I am self-sufficient. For once, Hades made good on his word. Making eye contact with Chiron, I swing my legs over the edge, careful not to get tangled in the sheets.

"That," I say, enunciating clearly to express my displeasure, "would be something to take up with Hades." I wink as Chiron looks at me in slight exasperation at either my antics or my making a deal with the devil. I brace my hands against the metal cot frame, shove, and manage to stand to my obvious delight. On my feet and under my own power feels marvelous. Now, he really appears aggravated.

"Pandora, I really-" I am sure he is about to warn me about being too active, too soon, but, at the moment, I really do not care. Anyway, there are more pressing issues. I hold up a hand to stop him.

"Chiron. I don't think I'm Pandora anymore." He looks at me like my return from the afterlife has addled my brains. "Listen to me. No-one should know of my return. I have a task, of sorts, which would be best completed in anonymity. Maybe after, I can be me again, but being Pandora now would be dangerous." All of which is completely true, but I am not exactly thrilled at the prospect of running into old friends. That Chiron recognized me easily enough makes me nervous. I do want to see the people I left behind, but I do not want them to know of my past. Chiron nods.

"Very well. If not Pandora, then who are you?" I think for a moment before smiling.

"Hope. Hope Lethe." Cheesy, but fitting. My mentor seems to think the same.

"Really, Pan-" He pauses to adjust to my chosen name, "Hope? The river of forgetfulness?" Now it is my turn to nod.

"Well, Miss Lethe, I assume then that you will not be assuming your place as part of the Hermes cabin?" The thought of not being with my family saddens me, but I nod again.

"Understandable, I suppose. You understand that we will place you with them for the time being, as an unclaimed newcomer within the camp?"

I respond with a "Yes, sir." I briefly wonder if I will be claimed at all or simply left in the Hermes cabin. I like the sound of the latter, even if it means a spot on the overcrowded floor.

"I will call a guide for you. Then, you may depart the Big House." I smile widely. As much as I adore the house, I am excited by the prospect of seeing what changes there are in the rest of the camp. I start walking toward the door, amazed by the blood flowing through my calves.

"Thank you so much, Chiron."

He calls to me, stopping me in the doorway. "And Hope, you may find it best if you come back later so that we may discuss," he pauses as though looking for the right words, "recent events." I nod enthusiastically as a show of my sincerity.

"Yes, Chiron. I look forward to it."

The white-painted walls of the house create a clean, open atmosphere, making thinking and breathing seem easier. As I walk the hall, I muse over Chiron's mention of recent events. What happened in my absence? All l know is that Luke's evil plot failed, or so I assume because the guy was dead. I think it is a logical assumption.

The thought of Luke brings up more questions. If not with me, where is he? What is he doing? And, for that matter, what am I doing? Hades did not explained a lick of anything. I guess that means I'm on my own then, but, at the moment, I cannot care less. All things in their time, and, in the meantime, I am enjoying living.

It is amazing simply to be walking around, feeling my body function, and the familiar sights are just icing on the burnt offering. Granted, all I have seen at this point is the infirmary, which was a little too familiar, a passing glance of the conference/ping-pong room(I smile at seeing cards and one plastic cup littering the green tabletop. ), the hallway, and now the inside of the door leading to the porch. A little trepidation fills me at the idea of going outside, but I am a demigod. Apprehension of the unknown is no stranger to me. Having my body back is not enough; I have a new life to live. My hand reaches out to gently turn the cold brass doorknob and swing the door inward.

One step takes me across the threshold. Cool morning air immediately smacks me in the face. I had been right the night before; it is summer. The grounds sport springy green grass that grows unhindered by the normally excessive rains. The wind gusts fiercely, causing the fabric of my clothing to press against my form and billow out behind me, and for the first time, I wonder how I am dressed.

Looking down, my sight seizes on my favorite color. I grab the orange fabric and bring it up to my nose, deeply inhaling the scent of cotton and strawberries. The long-sleeved T-shirt bears the words στρατόπεδον ήμισυς αίμα τό. Camp Half-Blood. When I lived, I had made the shirt design myself. Because of the heat during the summer, not many campers liked long-sleeved shirts, whereas I felt the style moved better, and I found reading English obscenely difficult, even for a half-blood ( or three-quarters or whatever); so, the shirt was mine alone. Despite its being mine, I had never gotten to wear the garment; the night I died I had laid the shirt out on my bed to wear for the first time the next morning. I was touched Chiron had thought to have me wear it, despite the dangerous tie to my previous life.

I am about to throw my new life away, even as get to begin enjoying it. The thought sobers my uncharacteristic giddiness. I understand that my time is borrowed. I am here to make atonement for my sins. I should be happy at that prospect; not everyone is so lucky. So, I will go through with what is probably an impossible task and make my reparations, but that does not mean I cannot enjoy life while I have it. Still, I lean against the porch railing, staring across the landscape and remaining properly morose.

From my vantage point, the activity areas- the stables, armory, arena, etc.- only show the wear that comes from age, but Camp has definitely changed. To the northwest, the forest shows vague signs of a battle, a smaller density of old trees in one section. East of the forest, more cabins than usual appear, unless my counting has gotten worse. There has to be at least twenty, no longer in a circle but instead taking the shape of a Greek omega. I wonder why. Nothing ever happens at camp. That is why demigods go to the outside to complete quests. But what has happened now, and exactly how much has changed since my death?

The sun is rising now. It seems I was not out very long after my collapse; I always was an early riser anyway. The sunrise, at least, is the same as I remember. Pale orange coats the ground as pink tendrils reach into the white heavens, creating a sherbet panorama, but all too soon the colors fade until nothing is left but gold and green of early summer morning. I can hear the world as it awakes with the coming morning: birds chirping, leaves rustling, and hinges creaking on cabin doors as their occupants commence their daily routines.

The great yellow orb tops the trees before some kid rushes up the steps and darts right up to the door, which is when he notices me. The boy turns, taking his hand back from the doorknob as the corners of his mouth twitch upward in the ghost of a smile.

"_Otsatspedou imisys aima to? _I've never seen that shirt before."

Glad that he noticed my shirt but wary at the same time, I decide to play my cards safely. I make my mouth the opposite of his.

"Neither have I." The half-a-grin disappears, and he makes a small step towards me.

"Are you new here?" Another step.

I begin playing with my hair, hating its dark color.

"Yes."It is my first time in a new life, so a half-lie, maybe, but still true.

"Do you know what it means?" He paces closer still.

I assume he means the shirt, but, really, of course I know what it means! I am, after all, a semigod (if self-proclaimed). Huffing unnoticeably, I try to hold back my indignation as I answer,

"Camp Half-Blood."

The boy looks a little surprised but lets my slip go as I start cursing myself silently. Stupid, I tell myself. I had just told him I was a newbie, and then I let it out that I can read Ancient Greek. Stupid, although I do not think he will press the matter. Poor guy looks uncomfortable with human contact. Then again, I am too, so no judgment here. The kid, who looks no more than fourteen, stands with a quiet confidence, and I get the feeling that he tries to stay unnoticed. He seems to be analyzing me.

"I'm Nico di Angelo. Chiron told me I was supposed to show someone around. Is that you?" Our eyes, the same smoldering color, match the other's gaze. Without taking my eyes off his, I nod, saying simply,

"I'm Hope." I stick my hand out first, and he grasps it, giving a short, strong shake. We let our hands drop back to our sides.

"So…" Nico drags out the word, "I guess if we're going to do this we had better get started then." He gestures for me to go down the stairs first. I do, practically buzzing in my excitement to be in the open air. He follows, still talking,

"Um, this is my first time doing this, so I guess I'll just take you around, and you can ask questions as we go." The way he says it, I know his decision is finite. Not bothering to pause, he takes off, heading along our bank of the river.

**Hope you liked it. I already have about another three pages written, but I'd like to add some more before posting. With love, PenNameless1994. **

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	3. Chapter 3: I turn Invisible

**I really do hope you all enjoy this! This fanfiction has officially reached 10,000 words and nineteen pages in Word! Anyway, this chapter starts kind of abruptly but ends well. I'm almost going to start getting into the meat of the story, which involves a prophecy. I feel like I'm in this for the long haul, and who knows, just maybe this will become a full length story and a headache to read. **

**I own nothing!**

"Um, this is my first time doing this, so I guess I'll just take you around, and you can ask questions as we go." The way he says it, I know his decision is finite. Not bothering to pause, he takes off, heading along our bank of the river. Determined that he will not get away from me, I match his pace, walking briskly beside him. About nine yards from the Big House, the boy revolves in the complete opposite direction. I mimic the action, shading my eyes from the glare of the sun as I try to see what has him stopped in his tracks.

"See that?" He asks, pointing, but the land before us is empty of every except the blue farmhouse we just came from and the hill that marks the entrance into the camp, complete with Thalia's pine, a dragon and- what in the gods' names?- the _Golden Fleece_.

"No. " I mutter. They cannot have the Golden Fleece. The thing has been lost for centuries, but he looks at me like I have suddenly lost a hundred IQ points. Sunlight reflects off the kid's dark hair, hitting me in my eyes. I make a face that could be mean of number of things, including that I am stupid. Nico does not comment, just turns back around.

"That," he says, pointing again, "is Half-Blood Hill. You probably come over it on your way in, didn't you?" No, I did not, but most people do not have the privilege of being dropped off at camp by a god; so, I lie,

"Yes," while still pondering the implications of the Fleece and the dragon and wondering how to ask without calling suspicion to myself. Nico, the dear, takes care of my predicament for me, inquiring slyly,

"So what did you think of Peleus?"

That is sweet. They named the dragon. I know that my little guide is testing me somewhat, so I hesitate almost unnoticeably before responding,

"He was," my voice shakes as I insert a little fear for Nico's shake, "frightening." A very appropriate answer for a new demigod. I think Dad would be proud of my excellent lying skills. Nico seems to appreciate them, too, because his very slight laughter seems to be shaking his shoulders.

"Well, I hope he didn't scare you too badly." His half-smirk makes a return. "He's just supposed to protect the Camp from intruders." Well, that makes sense, but I have got to wonder why Thalia's tree is not doing the trick anymore and why the pine has the Fleece draped over a branch.

"Is that wholly thing," I almost snort from derision. As if any child of Greece does not know what the Golden Fleece is. Besides, the glittering wool is a dead give-away. "the Golden Fleece from the legends?" Grimacing, Nico glances at the ground, and I realize the position in which I have put him. He is now on the verge of giving me the They're-Not-Legends speech, wherein he will reveal that the gods walk among us (Not really. They prefer their thrones.) and all the ancient myths are real. Sadly, it is an awkward speech to give, and the boy's face says it all. Nico lets out a little puff of air then slowly rolls his head up, his chin jutting out last.

"Hope," he looks me dead in the eye, his young face serious and devoid of personal attachment or emotion, "they're not legends." His tone is dead and dry, "They're real. The gods are real. Heroes are real. The monsters are real. And we have to deal with all of them." Well, that was cheery. Nico looks at me like he expects me to be shocked at the idea. I fight back a small smile, even though it is no laughing matter. Most of us demigods feel the some sense of abandonment from the lack of contact by our godly parents both before and after we are dumped into the big pile of shit that is our lives. Nico and I are no exceptions.

So I just give an "Mm, hmm," and start walking, somewhat aimlessly, toward the volleyball courts. The boy is right at my elbow within a matter of a second. He studies my face closely, his eyebrows knitted together slightly.

"You," he looks at my face for confirmation, "you aren't surprised," he states. Only the gods know how close I am to laughing at this moment. No, I am not surprised. In fact, you could say that this is all old news. But I do not tell Nico this.

"I've always had my suspicions." What an understatement. "The legends have to come from somewhere, don't they?" I really want to find out about the Golden Fleece, and maybe my guide too, so I try to harry the conversation along a little bit, asking Nico "So who's your godly parent?" He starts.

"Oh, I- what?" He stops, but his feet keep moving. And I honestly thought it would be that easy.

"Well, I assume that demigods are real, too, aren't they?" I explain. The boy recovers.

"Oh. Yeah. Um, it's Hades." No. Freaking. Way.

"You're kidding. Tell me you're kidding!" He cannot have seen! Some of my inner hysteria slips into my words. Nico looks at me like I am loosing it. The sad part is I am.

"No," he says to me flatly. As I calm myself, he speaks again, "I'd say it's okay, but it's not. As demigods, we're hunted down constantly, always fighting, never a moment's rest. When we do, it's here, training for the next time we go out and risk our lives. It's all part of what we are." He pauses in his bitterness, regarding me speculatively. "You look about fifteen, and the gods are supposed to claim their children by thirteen. You should be claimed tonight at dinner or the campfire."

Still regaining my composure, I manage to choke out, "Why," breath, "do the gods have to claim their children at thirteen?" It certainly is a new twist. Nico, in a reaction opposite to my lack of shock earlier, seems unbothered by my surprise now, waving a hand dismissively,

"It was part of the deal Percy Jackson made after saving Olympus from an attack by the Titans." He pauses to see if I am keeping up with all of this information. "The gods can't ignore their entirely children anymore, but, still, they're busy and sometimes one or two get claimed late." Jackson, I think, Percy Jackson. My guide stops my thinking, and introduces me to the volleyball courts, where a game is just starting. I look at Nico, who is not really showing much enthusiasm at the idea of the game. The boy is dark-skinned, but with his dark hair and eyes, I put his looks down to Italian lineage and not any particular interest is sports, despite his being muscled in the way of a swordsman. We walk right past the kiln for arts and crafts, another place where neither of us display any interest but the few kids in the place do. Through the doorway, I can see at least one child of Aphrodite highly engaged in creating a very intricate piece of jewelry. I resume my thought process as we continue our walk.

Jackson… Surely not that kid that killed the Minotaur. I remember how everyone was so shocked when he turned out to be a son of the Big Three. Then, he returned the Lightning Bolt to Olympus; now, he is the hero of it. I suppose, in five years, that the twelve year old has grown up, like everyone but me. Nico was right about my age, but I feel so much older than fifteen. Going through death, Hell, and back does a lot to make you mature, if not physically.

Shaking off thoughts of my previous demise ( and desperately not thinking of the one I am sure to face), I pick back up on my conversation with my guide.

"So," I stretch out the word for at least a full second, "Nico, son of Hades, been to the Underworld recently?" I desperately need to know, if he saw me, saw Luke and I, because I am afraid of how his seeing me there would color his opinion of me.

But, evidently, I am not allowed to know immediately, as we have arrived at the amphitheater. I am a little aggravated, but I do not really mind. I sit on a weathered stone bench, running my fingers across the loose rocks that have broken off the surface. I can barely hear Nico telling me about events that are held in the theater and about the campfires held after dinner here, too busy am I remembering the dancing flames and silly songs from when I lived. _Grandmother Dearest is dressed for war but has forgotten her sword._ Yes, that was always my favorite, but I cannot remember the rest. If I am lucky, we will sing _Grandmother Dearest_ tonight.

We have climbed the hundreds of rough, gray steps down to the floor of the amphitheater and back up before Nico answers at last. "No, I haven't been in a couple months. It's not exactly a fun place, if you know what I mean." I do, but instead of saying that, I blurt out the question that is bothering me.

"Ever been to the Fields of Punishment?" He looks at me askance as I realize I been be a little too well informed on the geography of the Underworld for a mortal, but I return his glance unabashedly as though nothing is wrong with my question whatsoever.

"Once." I hold my breath. " I was on a mission with Percy and Thalia, and we saw Sisyphus, but, generally, I try to avoid the Fields of Punishment."

"Thalia?" Why, why couldn't anything be the same? Nico is looking at me again. I press my point, "As in the pine tree?" Now he is really looking at me. _Gods._ Apparently, I have lost the ability to shut up when I know more than I should.

"Yeah," the Italian breaks the word into two syllables, "But she's not a tree anymore." Well, duh. Even I know that at this point. "The tree was poisoned, so when Percy went on a quest to save a satyr, he brought back the fleece, which healed the tree and Thalia. So, no tree, no more."

By now, we are no more than ten feet away from the rock wall. Nico tries to stop our conversation to talk about the wonders of the rock wall, which was spewing lava halfway down its wall to the dismay of the demigod now desperately scrambling for his life, but I am having none of it. Making my voice low and dangerous, I growl,

"Who dared to poison Thalia's tree?" I round on Nico, whose dark eyes grow large at the sight of my advancing on him. "Who, Nico?"

The boy holds his ground. Even in my fury I have to respect his courage. He answers my question, holding his chin high, "A guy called Luke Castellan." Instead of tearing Nico to shreds like I probably look like I am about to do, I sprint into the shadow of the flowing rock wall as the demigod climbing falls eight feet onto his butt with a thud. There, I hit my knees and throw up everything all the bile in stomach to make up for the lack of food.

How could he? I came to Camp the year after Luke did. He told me the story of Thalia's death himself. I saw how it tore at him, the soul-rendering sadness he felt. How could he? How could he kill that last left of her? How? How! I saw it in his eyes! I saw that pain! How, by the gods, how!

How?

I feel hands hesitantly lifting my hair from around my face.

"Hope?" It is Nico. "Are you sick?" His voice is concerned yet very clear and matter-of-fact. "Do you need some ambrosia?"

I sit back and wipe my mouth. "No, thank you." I hold back a dark laugh. "I'm not sick, so I'd rather not chance burning to ashes." Taking my hair back, I stand on my own, ignoring the hand he has halfway held out for me.

"Alright," he says to me, "we can go to the mess hall next." I only nod and step delicately around the lava now pooling in a mushroom-like shape onto the grass. Nico and I pick our way around the southwestern face of the wall. I almost put my foot in molten lava taking a step back as we emerge from the shadow because sitting in the inlet behind the mess hall is a great bronze ship with a dragon head mast anchored by one heavy anchor on one side in the water and three woven metal ropes going to land on the other. I can see strain in the chain links going down to the anchor and in the fibers of the ropes, and I get the feeling that both are there to stop the ship from floating up and flying away.

On the deck and are the ground, a stream of people are going on and off board, bringing in large trunks of provisions. One zippy Latino kid is flitting around everywhere on deck, opening maintenance hatches and fiddling with them briefly, getting more grease on him in the process, before closing the hatches and disappearing below deck. As he goes down, a toned blonde guy and a serious blonde girl come up, discussing travel plans as well as defensive and aggressive tactics that could be used from the ship's deck. A beautiful-beyond-belief bronze-skinned brunette is going over a list and calling out to the half-bloods carrying boxes to makes sure that the right supplies are packed away properly. As I watch, a spiky-haired goth chick wearing a seemingly out-of-character silver circlet dashes up the plank and hails the blonde boy, saying something about just getting word from the Lady Artemis. The guy excuses himself from the other blonde and goes with the girl that looks oddly similar to him, despite the color difference between their blonde and black hair. Flabbergasted, I look at Nico.

"What is this?" He seems used to the scene before him, albeit somehow uneasy. A crease marks the space between his eyebrows.

"This," his hand indicates the ship in front of us, "is the Argo II." He flags down the blonde girl. "Hey, HEY! ANNABETH!" The blonde glances around quickly before she spies Nico and starts waving her hand in the air.

"Nico di Angelo! When did you get back?" She hurries over to the railing. Nico cups his hands around his mouth to yell back.

"Two days ago!" She shakes her head, causing her curly ponytail to fly every which way.

"Come on board!" she yells, pointing to the plank, "Why have I not seen you yet?" Nico and I begin walking along the edge of the water.

"You've been busy!" Annabeth appears at the top of the gangplank as we reach the bottom.

"So I have!" She and Nico run to meet in the middle and give each other a friendly embrace. I follow a little awkwardly, feeling like an intruder. The two friends smile at each other before walking up the plank.

"So this is the Argo," says Nico to Annabeth.

"Yes, it is. Leo Valdez is our main mechanic. He's been working almost non-stop to make sure the ship is ready. We all have." She sounds run-down.

"Yeah." Nico puts a hand on the girl's shoulder. "It looks great." He takes his hand back. "When does she sail?" Here, about mid-way around the deck's fore, Annabeth rests a hand against her temple.

"Tomorrow." Apprehension takes on its own element in her weariness. The son of Hades turns the girl so she has no choice but to look him in the eye.

"It will be fine, Annabeth," he says firmly, "we will get him back." She meets his eyes before stepping away and looking down, shoulders slumped.

"Yeah. Yeah," she whispers, "I hope so." Out loud, she says, "I'll see you later, okay?" Nico nods, looking concerned, but waves his hand in farewell. One look from him to me and I know to go back to the ground. I do, and my guide meets me on the other side of the river flowing through camp. His shoulders mirror the way Annabeth's were, except his are a little stiffer, taller, not quite as defeated, and I know not to ask him about their conversation. He does not appear in the mood to do anything so I prompt him,

"Where to next?" He glances quickly at me before straightening himself up.

"Um," he seems to gather his thoughts together, "you'll get to see the mess hall at dinner, so you don't really need to see that now." He really is in a rush to get the tour over. I would agree. It has been extraordinarily long. "I'll just take you to see the cabins. You can see the forest during Capture-the-Flag or something and the armory before activities tomorrow. I'll have to ask Chiron about that," he mumbles the last part as a note to himself and moves on, "The arena and the stables you'll see during lessons, so I don't have to worry about that. So, yeah, just the cabins then." I wait patiently as he finishes his monologue, and abruptly, we are off, moving rapidly over grass. We pass up the mess hall, and before long, we arrive at the him and her mausoleums that mark the beginning of the cabin, and we halt.

"Quite a, uh, lot of cabins you have here," I pant, a little out of breathe from the running we were practically doing.

"Um, yeah." For a moment, Nico reminds me of a puzzle having its last piece put together with the rest; then it is over, and he regains his composure previous to boarding the Argo II. "They were part of the deal with Olympus, too. Minor gods have to be recognized on Olympus and at Camp, so we got a whole bunch of new cabins. Yeah," we start walking down the courtyard with Nico pointing our cabins as we go, "odd-numbered male-god cabins on your left, even-numbered female-god cabins on your right. Zeus's is Cabin One, and Hera's is the second." He pointed to each one. "Poseidon is the third, and fourth, over there, is Demeter's cabin, but you can only get in if you can get past the plants. And that-"

We have reached the middle of the courtyard, so I cut Nico off and walk over to the fire burning in the very center of the cabins. I can feel him following me but otherwise ignore his presence. Reaching the fire, I see a young brunette female sitting cross-legged with a little black-and-white tiled _pithos_ jar, regarding me with eyes that glow as warmly as the flames in which she sits. I bow.

"Lady Hestia." She smiles.

"Pandora Dayton. I see you have returned home." I glance nervously at Nico, who seems to have frozen. "Oh, do not worry about him. He cannot hear us," she reassures me. This is why Hestia has always been my favorite goddess. I hope my father did not hear that.

"Thank you, Lady." Hestia gives me a critical once-over before asking,

"Is there something you seek, child?"

I almost jump in my haste to reassure the goddess. "Oh, no, my Lady. I come only to pay homage." A knowing smile alights on her small lips.

"Very well, but let me say this." She holds up a finger to stop any protest from me. "Hope will always be there when you need it, and I believe you will find yourself worthier to have hope than you think yourself." One of her white hands strokes the _pithos_ jar. I gape, shocked.

"That's not-" I stop myself, beseeching Hestia for help, "is it?" Her eyes glow with pleasure.

"The original." The goddess becomes serious. "_Elpis_ still lives within, but it is your destiny to see whether or not she continues to do so." My jaw hangs open.

"My Lady! I cannot possibly- I mean, the last someone had that-"

"The last time someone had this" she pauses for emphasis, "he gave it to me, to be kept at the hearth. So protect the hearth." I bow my head submissively but say,

"Lady Hestia, I don't understand." She reaches a hand out to lift my chin up. It is warm; nonetheless, I do not refuse the meeting. The gods do not grant benign physical contact very much, so I am touched. She looks me in the eyes, and for a moment, I am overwhelmed by the power in them.

"When the time comes, you will. See you around." She winks, releasing me from her influence, and then disappears entirely. Beside me, Nico jerks back to consciousness and shakes his head.

"Whoa," he breathes, "head rush. Hey, Hope, what's going on?" he adds to me, under his breath.

"Oh, nothing," I stall, "so, uh, what's in Cabin Five?" Nico snaps out of it.

"Oh, uh, yeah that's the Ares cabin…" And so we continue until we reach Cabin Eleven. We stop outside the door, and I take in the familiar sight of my cabin. The wooden planks are still rough and unsanded, the brown paint peeling off in little flakes. Everything about the cabin says worn-out, from the threshold the caduceus above the door, but it is my home, where I have (or had, I think sadly) family.

"Welcome to Cabin Eleven: The Hermes Cabin," announces Nico, pushing open the door. He steps inside, and I come in eagerly right behind him. The inside is just as worn as the outside, but it is different from the way I remember it. It is more open, less- crowded. I do a quick count of the people in the room. Eight campers. It simply cannot be. Not a sleeping bag on the floor, not a strangler in sight, and four empty beds. Nico is talking to the campers, presumably introducing me, and I hear the familiar Hermes greeting.

"Regular or Undetermined?" I almost fail to stop happy tears from coming right then. I beat Nico to the punch, wanting so desperately to be a part of this ritual.

"Undetermined," I announce, although it kills me to say it. The campers look me over, and I realize that they cannot see the family resemblance what with the changes Hades made to my appearance. I think I want to cry tears of sadness now. The guy from the first bed on the left speaks.

"Well, that probably won't last very long." He smiles at me apologetically. "Housing new campers is basically honorary at this point as most gods claim their children by the second night, if not the first, but welcome anyway. Choose any bed you like, even though you probably won't be sleeping in it." He gets off his bed where he was sitting to shake my hand. "I'm Travis Stoll, Hermes Cabin Head Counselor." An identical figure gets up from the first bed on the right and announces itself, saying as it eyes the other boy,

"And I'm Conner Stoll, also the Hermes Cabin Head Counselor." All the other campers get up to shake my hand and bombard me with their names as well.

"Katelyn."

"Blake Joyner."

"Alexis Hicks."

"I'm Cody."

"Jennifer."

"Johnny." That little boy squeaks at me before scurrying back to his bed.

"Thank you," I tell all of them. I then look pointedly at one of the Stoll brothers. Whichever one it is says,

"Just pick a bed and settle in for however long." He smiles kindly. I scan the room perfunctorily before my sight seizes on my old bunk.

"Is that," I swallow, sure I sound breathless, "is that bunk taken?" Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Conner gulp.

"No," he says, pausing briefly, "but I feel it's only fair to warn you that one of that bed's occupants disappeared mysteriously." Oh my gods. I remember the Stolls now. Oh, they were so cute when they were little! Always making trouble, like good Hermes campers. My heart swells with pride at seeing them grown up. It was their second year at Camp when I disappeared. It seems natural that they might remember me.

Jennifer is laughing. "Don't scare her away!" She looked at me. "Don't worry. They told me that story when I came here." She smiles prettily by way of apology for her cabin leaders.

"Oh, I won't, I promise." If I disappear again, it will not be anything new to me. I walk in a daze over to the second bed on the right. I lie face down and bury my face in a pillow, shedding my first and only tear of the day. The thin mattress with the springs barely poking through feels so comfortable after a day of unexpected changes, but I can feel everyone's eyes on me so I wipe away my tear and turn over to face the ceiling. Conner looks at me from the next bunk over.

He pierces me with his most serious stare. "I'm not kidding you know. No one ever heard from her again. I don't want to scare you, but you look just about her age, too." I examine his face. It still has that bright and cheery quality to it, but that aspect is offset by the serious expression he wears now. The Conner I remember was not capable of such severity. My swollen heart deflates with the sound of a punctured balloon.

Travis calls out across the room, "Stop bothering her, Conner." Conner opens his mouth to retaliate, but Travis simply speaks across him, addressing me, "Do you need anything? Sleeping bag, toiletries? I can, ah, arrange their acquisition if you do." I laugh out loud.

"No, thanks." I wipe the tears of mirth from under my eyes. "I can take care of it myself." The entire cabin looks at me in astonishment. Blake Joyner breaks the silence by yelling,

"More power to 'ya! Gee, I hope she becomes a regular." Now everybody is laughing. Our giggles have subsided by the time the dinner bell rings across the valley five minutes later. I have not realized how late it really is, but, though my window, the sun is far past its apex and edging out of the third quarter of sky and into the fourth.

Little Johnny is the first to line up in his place: next to last, so I take my place behind him while everyone else gets in order of seniority, which of course, the Stoll brothers end up fighting over who will lead, arguing,

"I was born first!"

"I crossed into Camp first!"

And so on. Eventually, though, they settle down and lead the nine of us together. We march up to the mess pavilion, meeting our cabins on the way. Nico, the amazing one man cabin, wanders about by himself, while Annabeth leads a line of about seven demigod siblings. I cannot recognize anybody else, so I just pay attention to myself and to the smell of food (food! (I sound like a satyr.) ) until we actually reach the pavilion and I lose my temper because there is a huge jagged scar reaching horizontally across the otherwise smooth marble floor.

I reach my breaking point. This is it. How many things in this camp have to change. It- is –TOO - MUCH! I wish so much that I could just be invisible for a few moments so I could break down in privacy. I send up a little prayer for a blessing to any listening gods because I cannot take this anymore. As soon as I do, I get my wish. The world outside of me seems to become hazy and unfocused. I alone am completely clear to my eyes, and somehow I know it is because the rest of camp cannot see me, not the other way around. I watch in real time as the grainy figures of my cabin mates realize that I am gone and send up the alert to Chiron at the high table. I know everyone will be looking for me soon, so I have my moment, and then wonder how to get out of this state. I hear a voice say,

"I can help you with that."

"Hades!" I spit. The Lord of the Dead stands in front of me and smiles. He reaches out a hand and takes something from my head.

"I'll just be taking this back now," he holds his Helm of Invisibility carefully in both hands. The grainy picture regains its clarity as I hear him say, "I do hope you enjoy my little surprise." By the time everything is clear again, all the campers are down on their knees facing me. Surprised, I need a few seconds before I realize I have an aura. My aura is not an ethereal glow; instead, I seem to be emanating shadows. Looking up, I see a sight I never wanted to see: Hades's Helm and two crossed key glowing black. I hear Chiron say,

"Hail, Hope Lethe, Daughter of Hades, Lord of Death."

All gods damn Hades.

**Hope you liked it! Lots of love, PenNameless1994. **

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	4. Chapter 4: I meet a Former Pine Tree

**Hello! I know I've been absent for a couple weeks. Please believe me when I say I'm very sorry. To make up for it, I already have written the next chapter. **

**Five reviews gets the next chapter posted immediately. I've also made this chapter shorter because I felt like the previous chapter was a little overwhelming. **

**I do not and never will own PJO. Rights belong to R. Riordan. **

After my "claiming," I manage a quick good-bye to my Hermes cabin-mates before Chiron ushers me to sit with Nico at the Hades table. Everyone else is settling down, grabbing plates and fighting with siblings over the food. I, on the other handed, brace my elbows on either side of my empty plate and lean my head in my hands. Stupefied at having another sibling, Nico stares at his also empty plate as though the white china is the most mesmerizing object in the world.

I can remember the happiness I felt at my first claiming. I was eleven and had just finished dueling Luke for the first time. To everyone's surprise, I managed to hold my own, and the contest came to the draw. I suppose Dad was proud of me, because, the next thing I knew, his symbol was floating above my head. The sense of belonging and family that came with the golden –glowing caduceus was over-whelming. I simply could not believe that Dad had bothered to care enough to claim me, and I was happy. But this time, Hades's claiming, felt perverse, as though it went against nature. Needless to say, I am beyond pissed.

I simmer in my anger for several long minutes, but all around us, other tables are standing and lining up in front of the coal brazier to make their offerings to the gods. Noticing this, I nudge Nico with my elbow, and he looks around briefly before he and I quickly pile food onto our own plates and scurry into line. The queue is progressing slowly as each camper takes his time with the offering. Bored, I decide to bring my "brother" out of his reverie.

I cough. "So, Nico, do you know what, uh, happened to the floor here?" I indicate the crack that resembles a fault line in the marble. To my surprise, Nico blushes a little, although he probably does not know that that crack made me crack.

"That's kind of," he licks his lips quickly, "my fault. Some skeletons were chasing us, and well, I made the ground swallow them." Odd. I was not expecting the answer to be so logical.

Keeping my face blank, I respond, "Cool." The line is moving more quickly as the campers get hungrier, so Nico and I are now progressing at a steady shuffle, the boy inspecting me closely as we do. I wonder how he feels to have a sibling that so obviously breaks the pact the Big Three made about not having any children. Of course, he breaks it himself, but I am older than he; that makes two children very close in age by different mothers, which is a very serious violation of an oath on the River Styx. I do not think that even Hades would be that careless.

The demigod before us returns to his table with a plate so full I have to doubt that he made an offering at all.

Nico quickly steps up to the fire and scraps off some off his food, saying, "To Hades," and hurrying back to the Hades table.

I am the last one in line so I take my time with my offerings. I silently add to the sweet-scented flames the thickest piece of barbeque for my father with a prayer to guide me and a strawberry so juicy that I am sad to see it go for Hestia with a prayer to help me understand. Last, I make my offering to Hades, a small, shrunken and withered, brown grape that I picked out especially for him. I flick it off my plate with a forefinger and a clear "For Hades." Turning to go, I catch a thin tendril of rotten smelling smoke rising from the fire. I hope Hades likes it.

As I settle beside Nico into the bench, he looks at me with a mixture of confusion, irritance, and awe.

"What," he says to me in an undertone, "was that for?"

I smile. "Oh, just a little disagreement we had on the way down here." The irritance is gone from his face, as though I have answered one of his questions (which I have), but confusion and awe remain.

He raises his eyebrows. "You've met him already?"

I nod and take a bite of my brisket, savoring the sweet sauce layered on the juicy meat- my first meal. That effectively ends our conversation, so we promptly employ ourselves in the eating of dinner.

At the end of supper Mr.D stands up from where he was previously sitting at Table Twelve (at least I still think it's Table Twelve, but I can't be sure with the all the new tables) between Chiron and a plump, blonde boy and from where he was glaring simultaneously at his glass of Diet Coca-Cola and me- the Coke because it had the audacity to not be alcohol and me because, well, he looks at everyone like that- to glare at everybody. The god looks just like I remember him: short, fat, curly-headed, and wearing a leopard-print shirt.

His eyes sweep the room as he clears his throat. "Settle down, you brats." The loud rumbling of voices dies immediately. "I've been asked by Chiron to welcome our new camper, Hailey or whomever," he shoots me a short frown. "so, hello. Maybe you won't die. Anyway, I'm supposed to remind all of you about your stupid campfire thing. You may now leave me alone." The campers cheer, taking his words as a dismissal, for what I assume is a sing-along. They rise in a massive, chattering, clanging wave and sweep off to the amphitheatre.

I follow behind everyone else, taking happiness in their revelry, so by the time I arrive, the campfire is already in full swing- well, as full as it is going to get. By the short, dull fire are a few smore-makers and some Apollo campers desperately trying to save the sing-along. They make up a ring with a radius of a few feet around the fire. Outside that ring, even fewer people mill about, attempting to make conversation with each other, and on the outskirts, a sort of apprehension or even fear is palpable in campers that only sit or stand in isolation.

I move about in those outskirts, not a little scared by the absolute silence that occupies the zone. I pass the Latino kid I saw earlier on the ship, but right now, he is not so zippy. He stands alone, muttering to himself about schematics and organic life forms.

Actually, most of the people I'm passing were on the ship earlier. I've got to wonder what their deal is.

A few seats away from the Latino boy is the blonde girl, who sits gazing into the distance with the same defeated posture she had earlier. As I draw closer, I see a paper plate holding an untouched smore beside her.

I sit down beside her, my hands braced on the edge of the stone bench.

I look straight ahead. "So, your name's Annabeth right?" Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her turn her head towards me. At first her face is listless, but as I watch, she forces a small smile on her face.

"Yeah," she says, "and you're Hope." I turn to her, nodding, and offer my hand to shake.

She does, saying, "Look, I'm sorry I was so rude earlier on the ship. I've just been," she pauses, like she's making herself breathe, "a little distracted lately." Her eyes, though, say that she is more than a little distracted. Their gray depths are equal amounts of immeasurably sad, almost insane, and determined to the point of suicidal.

"Yeah," I make the word a sigh, "that seems to be pretty common around here." I wave a hand to indicate the outer fringe of campers.

"Well, it's just that," she stumbles over her words as though she's unsure of how to say whatever it is she wants to say, "see, one of our campers went missing. Percy Jackson. He's been gone for almost two months now."

I agree. "Yeah, the entire camp does seem kinda worried about it."

Annabeth gives me a sad smile, one that seems on the verge of tears. Of course, I can see in Annabeth that she will never let those tears fall.

"He's done a lot. He's a hero. The camp counts on him. They'd all like to see him return," she says the next part slowly, just above a whisper, "especially with what's coming." Her voice goes to its normal level. "But, Percy and I, we've been through a lot together, and I'd really like to have him back- safely. " She emphasizes the last word strongly as her hand reaches up to stoke a bead on her necklace. The green bead is emblazoned with a trident and sits sixth in a series of nine. Gods, this girl has been at camp for a long time. I look left to see the first bead: a white one, with a pine tree- Thalia's pine tree.

I bit down on the inside of my lip to keep from making a sound.

The conversation makes an obvious break before I say, "You said your last name was Chase?" I wonder if she can hear the strain in my voice.

She looks at me askance. "It is, but I didn't." She examines my heart-shaped face closely. She should probably see something she recognizes in it, but I know that the dark eyes and hair will throw her off, not to mention the whole coming-back-from-the-dead thing. That is the problem with the children of Athena: if it's not logical, they can't accept it.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" she asks.

Gods, does she. I knew Annabeth from the time she was eight, from the day I entered camp. She was the cutest thing, never letting Luke and I out of her sight which actually ended up with her spending more time with the Hermes cabin than her own. I was closer to her in age and a girl, so we, instead of she and Luke, became the very best of friends. I taught her how to use the knife Luke gave her. I helped her plan strategies for Capture the Flag. I listened to her long to get out of Camp on a quest. I encouraged her to rebuild a relationship with her father and held her when it did not work out. I even listened to her worries over Luke, but, near the end, I do not think she ever got my subtle hints to stay away from him.

I cannot see that little girl with trust issues anymore. Sure, she's torn up over the Jackson kid, but she's strong and determined. Like she said, I can see that she has been through a lot, since I died especially. She's even older than I am, her seventeen years topping my fifteen when I had always been three years ahead.

So I give an honest answer, "No," because she, like everything else, has changed so much.

"Oh," is all she says, but she looks at me suspiciously. She watches for a few more moments before excusing herself, leaving behind her untouched smore in her hurry.

I just look at the fire. More and more I get the sense that all my ties to my past have been cut, like there is nothing but here and now. I feel strangely focused, somewhat like I have been squeezed into concentrated juice. Saving Nico seems so much more important than anything I ever was; this mission will make me, either restoring any good name I ever had, in the mortal world or in the afterlife, or destroying my name, and worse should I fail, entirely and making me rue my decisions forever in searing pain of the Fields of Punishment.

In any case, the dead party seems even more distant and unreal to me, so I stand, stretching, and resume my walk around the fire. I amble slowly, weaving easily around the still pillars of campers. Mostly I want to find Nico so he can tell me where his cabin is so I can sleep, but instead I only see a glimpse of Annabeth talking discreetly to the blonde boy and the goth girl from the ship through the lifeless party. Nico, apparently, is not the roaring party animal you would expect to be at a campfire- a quality we have in common.

Instead of continuing my search, I settle into a people-less pocket by the fire, now not much more than pathetic little flames on dull embers. I bask in the low, crisp glow as warm summer sea-air swarms at my back and breathe in the taste of wood and ash. Though I think of flames and Hell often, this fire is oddly comforting. For a brief moment, I feel at home, and I could swear I see one of Hestia's flaming eyes wink at me from the flames.

Comfort does not last long, though. Through the crowd, I can see the kids Annabeth was talking to coming for me. I hold my ground, deciding to let them come _to_ me, trusting Annabeth as well to not send any hurt my way. I examine the pair as they get closer.

The boy is the epitome of clean-cut masculinity: well-trimmed blonde hair, clean-shaven, and muscular, as evidenced by his form-fitting shirt, which , oddly, is purple. Despite his appearance, or perhaps because of it, I am uncomfortable with this strong, dangerous, obviously experienced hero. He has an air of regimentation and conquest about him that does not sit well with me but matches his purple shirt somehow.

The girl is less discomforting, even with her deliberately dangerous appearance, but not by that much. The silver circlet on her brow definitely clashes with the rest of her clothing, which looks like something Nico would not oppose- a green day T-shirt and loose, ripped black jeans. Her choice in jewelry is Spartan: the one adornment she allows herself is a metal cuff on her left wrist, and I get the feeling that it is more than it appears. Spiky black hair intensifies electric blue eyes that can root you to the spot, eyes that the boy does not match in color, but in intensity.

I can tell that she, like he, is a very dangerous and experienced opponent. I would not want either one of them as my enemy and especially not both together.

I watch them warily as they arrive in my secluded little corner.

I thank Hestia for my brief moment of peace then look each of them in the eyes. "Can I _help_ you?" The blonde looks a little taken aback by my forwardness but his dark-haired counterpart simply crosses her arms and purses her lips in consideration.

The boy recovers before speaking, very much the strong-and-silent type. "It's just, uh, we haven't met." I am automatically on guard from the sinister emphasis he puts on met; Annabeth, it seems, is more suspicious than I originally thought, and the two here are supposed to find out if I'm a friend… or enemy.

"No," I reply, slowly, deliberately, "we haven't." I pause briefly to weigh my options. "I am Hope, daughter of Hades." Just saying that makes me want to retch and rinse out my mouth with that lava dishsoap the cleaning harpies use. Hermes forgive me. "And you are?" I know I haven't given them what they're looking for, but as long as I get information out of it, I really could care less.

The two exchange a glance, and the boy speaks again, "Well, my name's Jason, son of Jupiter-"

I raise a hand to cut him off. "You mean Zeus. A child of Zeus," I emphasize before continuing, sadness tingeing my voice, "like Thalia." The girl to Jason's left straightens, her spine completely erect. Her eyes blaze with curiosity.

She raises a hand to stop that retort Jason is about to make."What do you know about Thalia?" The truth? Not much. I never met Thalia. I was the first new camper after Luke and Annabeth, and everything I know about her came from them. I know of her past and of her loyalty and bravery in defending her friends from death at the price of coming to her own. I remember the light in Annabeth's eyes as she talked about the good times she and Thalia and Luke shared. Eventually, I came to mourn her as if she had been my friend, too. If asked, I would say that the girl in front of me reminds me of the way I always imagined Thalia, right down to the torn-up army jacket.

I shrug, then sigh wistfully. "Not much. Just that she died, got turned into a pine tree, and got turned back into a girl." That seems to satisfy the girl, but now the kid sighs.

"Like I said before," he looks at me to make sure I will not interrupt this time, "I am Jason, son of Jupiter, yes, Jupiter," I receive a short glare, "and this," he indicates the girl beside him, "is my sister, Thalia, daughter of Zeus."

Woa. Head rush. Okay, so I never, and I mean never, thought that I would ever meet the Thalia: Pine Tree of Camp-Half Blood. Come on, she was a pine tree! But, why am I even surprised anymore? Nico did tell me this morning that she had been de-tree-ified, and, now, here she is. It's good to see a friend, even one who doesn't know me, return to live life again. It seems to be treating her just fine, too. She looks good, with an almost silvery glow. But as glad as I am to see her, my mind has seized on another, slightly more important, detail.

Like that face that Jason made sure to distinguish between Jupiter and Zeus, as if they were two separate beings. At that moment, realizations crash down on me. Greek and Roman empires mean Greek and Roman gods mean… Oh gods! Greek and Roman _demi_gods. Jason's shirt. Jackson's absence. Two camps. What the hell were the gods thinking?

I look at Jason sadly. "Percy Jackson's at the Roman camp, isn't he?"

I am now receiving open stares from the two. "Um, yes," admits Jason.

"And that's what the ship's for?"

More stares and an "Um, yeah," from the boy.

"Any more space?" I wonder if this is why Hades sent me to protect Nico. If he's going on this, then I can only imagine the danger he'll be in. Just Jason gives me the heeby-jeebies, but an entire camp of well-organized and ruthless Romans?

Thalia steps in, probably because it is not in her nature to let someone do all the talking- and Jason's still being a little slow. "No," she says, "The ship's not that big to begin with, and we're taking most of the Hephaestus and Apollo cabins and as much of the Ares cabin as is safe for any chance of diplomacy. After that, we've got a few scattered volunteers, who don't mind going to almost certain death. All that's not to mention how much room pegasi take up." She fixes me with her eyes. "We're trying to maintain a balance between a diplomatic mission and a fighting force. We'd rather not scare them with numbers, but we need to have enough campers if it comes down to fighting. So, no, no room for you."

The words she speaks are true enough, but I get the sense that she doesn't want me along, anyway. To her, I'm probably some green camper, and a meddlesome one at that.

So I ask, "Is Nico going?" because that is the answer I wanted to hear in the first place.

They look at me with curiosity, or maybe pity, although for whom I do not know. "No," Thalia answers.

I nod. Not going is fine by me. If I don't have to tangle with Romans, then that's all the better, although I hope that Jackson gets out okay, for Annabeth's sake.

As I am nodding, Nico sneaks up out of the twilight-blue shadows. I jump, getting a one raised eyebrow each from Jason and Thalia and a smirk from Nico.

"Hey, guys," he says roughly.

Jason returns the greeting as Thalia inclines her head, acknowledging, "Nico."

He looks over her way. A real smile breaks over his young face right then "Hey, Thalia. Always good to see you."The smile fades as he looks over to me. "Look, Hope, I'm getting ready to turn in. Just though I should show you where the cabin is."

His eyes question me, and I say, "Yeah. 'Night, guys," and Nico and I turn towards the cabins and set off. It is just a little stroll, but Nico looks a little tired.

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	5. Chapter 5: In which I Become Very Sad

**Hey, everybody. Thanks so much for all the support. I want you all to know that I'm very, very sorry for the long lapse in updates. I'm still ahead in my writing, and I know the last time I said that it took me forever to update. Still, we're still progressing, and soon enough, a chapter or two maybe, we will get to the good stuff. **

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When we get to the cabin, I stop dead in my tracks.

Nico grins at me. "Well," he asks, "what do you think?"

On the front porch of the cabin stand two torches, the tinted flames of which cast green light onto a single pale skull over the doorframe. Beams of moonlight reflect off the solid black obsidian walls eerily. A chilling air emanates from the cabin, causing my teeth to chatter and the hair on my arms to rise in response to the thrill of fear coursing through me.

I quickly assure Nico that the cabin is way beyond cool- and truth be told, it is. But, in spite of the coolness, it seems kind of lonely, too, empty almost. It's nothing like the happy Hermes cabin, always full of people to trip and pick-pocket you and to keep you up at night with friendly chatter.

Nico leads me up the steps, apparently happy to be home, or maybe just glad to have access to a bed. He lets me pass him through the threshold, and I only glimpse four pinpricks of green light in an uncomfortably small room before Nico shuts the door with a _click_ behind me. Immediately, shadows pour from the walls, swirling about the room and hovering at the edges of light cast by the few candles.

The darkness rushes to greet me, wrapping its greedy arms about me. My chest constricts. I gasp for clean air but only darkness pours in, choking me. I cannot escape. It is all around me, covering my mouth, nose, and eyes. I am deprived of my senses and disoriented, unable to even see the little candles, unable to see any light anywhere.

"Hope, Hope!" I can hear Nico calling. Suddenly, a cold hand touches my arm. I slap it away, reaching for my non-existent sword in the same motion. My hand hits only empty space, and I realize that I am weaponless- but not defenseless. My hands ball into fists, just in case.

"Don't touch me!" I yell.

Nico's voice, sharp and surly, responds, "Fine!"

I try to calm myself. It does no good to get worked up. I need a solution. "Is there a window in this place?" I am surprised to hear myself rasp.

Nico sounds surprised, too. "Of course," he says and follows it with a crisp snap of his fingers I can hear across the room.

The darkness lifts, drawn out like a vacuum through newly materialized windows into an exchange with the clear, humid night air. I breathe in, glad for relief despite the stickiness.

At that moment, I lift my hands from my face, to find that I not only have been covering my eyes, but I have also wedged myself into a corner and am on the ground, shaking.

"I, I need some air," I gasp before running out the door.

I rush out past the porch, around the back of the cabin to press my back against the wall. I relish in the free air, the open space, the lack of darkness in general.

I hear the young grass crunch and again reach for a weapon that is not there.

"Woa!" Nico holds up his hands in surrender and keeps walking towards me, "it's just me."

He comes up and leans against the wall beside me. I cringe away from the closeness. He does not seem to notice but looks around at our surroundings, not meeting my eyes.

"So," he drags the word out as one dreading to ask an unpleasant question,"scared of the dark or claustrophobic?"

I breathe in deeply. "Claustrophobic."

He only nods. "Odd trait for a child of Hades," he remarks evenly, " I spend most of my time underground in very small spaces."

"Yeah," I mumble, "really odd."

No frickin' kidding! The children of Hermes thrive in the _agora_, the marketplace. We live for the openness of crowds and their noise and the freedom to create general ruckus. Small spaces? Dark places? As a general rule, we try to avoid them, and if they're sprung on us suddenly, they feel like traps, a feeling none of us can seem to handle.

Nico is still watching me with kindness and concern. "You know," he says, "Thalia is afraid of heights."

I smile. "No kidding?"

He returns the smile, finally looking at me. "No kidding. But she'd kill me if she found out I told you that."

I promise, "My lips are sealed."

I take one last look at the sky, which looks like an overturned, navy blue, ceramic cereal bowl dotted with little specks. A new constellation glitters there: a huntress with a bow, taking large strides across the sky. Whatever her story is, it is probably tragic; most are. I turn my head away then walk with Nico back to the front of the cabin.

Nico holds the door open for me, just like the last time. I step in cautiously, taking in my surroundings. It is actually not so dark in here anymore, for while the walls and the furniture are black, long, rectangular windows stretch from end to end across each side wall. It is night outside, so the windows do not provide a lot of light, but they are open, allowing a warm breeze to flow within the room. Four monstrosities take up each corner of the room. Two foot thick mattresses are covered with humongous plush black satin covers and a black body pillow each the size of Nico.

I can tell which bed belongs to Nico because it is the one pushed into the darkest spot in the room, where not even the light of the stars coming through the windows make any difference.

Beside each bed is a little black wooden dresser where alights a single candle, giving off a flickering, sickly, pale-green light matched by the candelabra chandelier of bone hanging over the center of the room, where aisles of a two-foot width separating the beds cross.

It's a nice cabin that does not provide for much other than sleeping. If the place were not so dismal, it might be cozy.

Nico is hovering at my elbow apprehensively. He seems to really want to settle down for the night, but he keeps shifting his weight. He frowns, looking plain uncomfortable.

I fix him in place with my eyes, and he stops shifting his weight but starts playing with his hands. I venture a guess. "The windows make you nervous, don't they?"

He sighs. "Kind of. It's just… I come here to get away, you know?" Poor kid, feeling exposed by a window. I guess it's not easy, being the son of one of the least-liked gods. I know I don't like our daddy dearest.

I nod. "Yeah, yeah I know." I think for a moment. "Hey, if you can just leave a window over my bed, would that be better?"

He mulls this over for a bit. "Yeah," he says slowly, "yeah," he is getting a little happier now, "I think that would work." He raises his fingers to snap but stops and looks at me. "Um, which bed?" he asks.

"Oh," I say, "that one." I point to the bed on the same wall as Nico's but nearer to the door. He looks at it briefly then gives the same crisp snap I heard earlier. Abruptly, paneling snaps down over all the window space except one little square above my chosen bed, through which I can see the slender gleam of tonight's crescent moon.

The tension evaporates from Nico's face. He flashes me one sleepy grin and all but jumps into his bed in the far corner.

"G 'Night, Hope," He mumbles into his pillow.

I sit down on my own bed, soft and luxurious. "Good night, Nico." I say softly.

But I don't go to sleep.

I consider for a moment, then quietly stand up off my bed, taking care to not cause the mattress to creak, creep over to the door, and slip out without making a sound.

Once again, I relish in the night air. Not particularly worried about being seen, I briskly set off across the campgrounds. It's just hit curfew, so all the campers are in bed, and the harpies won't come out for at least another hour. Still, the unusual happens, so I keep a watchful eye out.

I make it all the way to the Big House without a hitch. I stand in front of the porch and jokingly announce, "I'm here!"

Chiron, who is already standing on the porch, horse tail in curlers and all, smiles and agrees with me, "Yes, you are."

I grin and rush up the steps to embrace the old horse.

He lets go of me gently. "It's good to have you back, Pandora." He smiles for a moment more before his face melts into seriousness. "Now, tell me what you want to know, my child."

I tell him simply, "Start from the beginning."

And he does, moving chronologically from the time Luke stole the Lightning Bolt to his redemption (which makes it a little harder for me to hate him, considering that he did save Annabeth) and defeat, covering what I already knew, like his poisoning Thalia, his hosting Kronos, and his having been defeated, and what I had not known, like the Battle of the Labyrinth, the explosion of the Princess Andromeda, and the Final Battle at Mount Olympus.

When he finishes, I venture, "But now there's something more." Chiron considers me. I insist, "I know about Jackson and the Romans, but this goes deeper than just another camp of demigods," I look at him closely. "What going on, Chiron?"

When he sighs, I automatically go on guard. Chiron is a normally very calm character, never gets burs in his tail or anything, so when something upsets him, it's a pretty big something. "Pandora, my dear, do you remember what happened after the original Titan War?"

I screw up my face as I try to remember. I know the answer, or, at least, I can feel the answer inside me. The knowledge is ingrained like an ancestral memory. It's a part of me, like ADHD or dyslexia. Sure enough, the answer to Chiron's question floats into my mind.

"Gaea," I say, awed, "and her sons. Dear gods, Chiron!" I shake myself, trying to wake up from what must be a nightmare. "You just came out of a war, we don't need another one!"

"Do you not think that we all have the same conclusion? Gaea is causing a rebirth of many monsters and villains, all of whom return much too quickly. The gods have gone silent, hoping to stop the stirring, but even some godlings have taken her side." Chiron shakes his head at me sadly. "You know, that that's the always problem with immortal families. They have-"

"Immortal problems," I finish for him.

He chuckles. "Too right."

I sit in the nearest wicker chair, stunned. Chiron bends down to look at my face. He's actually pretty limber for a millennia-old centaur.

"Pandora? Are you alright?"

I laugh a little ghost of a laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just needed a minute to… process things," I say, swallowing hard.

He still looks concerned, though. "Why don't you head on to bed?" he suggests.

"Yeah," I stand then pause, turning for another look at the centaur. "Chiron, can I ask you something?"

He nods seriously.

"My mother," I start nervously, "is she…?" I leave the question hanging. Chiron shakes his head at me somberly. Tears prick at my eyes. "When?" The word escapes my lips.

"Not long after you died."He rests a hand on my shoulder, hesitating, "She got a little reckless after that. She was found by the Door of Orpheus." He continues gently. "She loved you."

"Yeah," I sniffle, "I know. Um, I think I'll go now." I make for the steps, but Chiron stops me.

"Before you go," he trots over to the corner of the porch and picks something up, "take this," he says and throws a black backpack to me.

I catch the canvas with a muffled _thwump_. "Thanks, Chiron," I say, moving down the steps, waving with one hand at him.

Behind me, I hear him whisper, "Anytime," but I'm around the corner and out of sight before I stop against the wall of the Big House.

I kneel quickly, deciding, as cold-hearted as this sounds, that I can mourn once I get back to the cabin. I rip the zipper open on the bag Hades gave me for this crazy quest, then slow down. I know better than to dive into something Hades packed without due caution. I peer in carefully and smile, as much as I can at the moment, because, for once, Hades did well. One by one, I begin pulling out the supplies: a standard Ziploc baggie of ambrosia, a canteen of nectar, and even a bag of toiletries for me(Guess I won't have to steal those after all), but when I come to the next item, I stop dead. With a shaky hand, I draw out my camp necklace. I cannot believe Hades put in it there. Gently, I caress the four beads, reliving fond memories of those years. With slightly steadier hands now, I fasten the necklace around my ankle under my jeans because I want at least one memento to tie me to my past, even if I cannot let it be seen. The rest of the bag is filled with golden drachmas- and I know exactly what for.

Hurriedly, I shove everything back into the pack. I shoulder it, then head off in search of a rainbow. I don't get very far before I realize you need light for a rainbow- and it's the dead of night. I curse in Greek because now there's only one thing I can do: go into the Big House.

I round the corner again and breathe easy. Chiron's already left the porch. I go up the stairs and slip in through the screen door without making a sound. I tip-toe past the rec room, the sitting room, and Mr.D's empty bedroom(See, gods don't actually sleep, but Dionysus likes to make himself pass out to "forget the wretchedness of this awful camp," or so he says), which is right next to the kitchen for obvious reasons.

I creep into the next room, which is the kitchen. Careful to make sure I can still hear the silence, I unhook the water-sprayer beside the faucet and angle the shower so that the kitchen's industrial lighting makes a mini-rainbow in the sink. I reach my other hand into the backpack and fish out a drachma.

"O, goddess," I intone quietly, "please accept my offering." I toss the coin, and it vanishes in the multi-colored spray. "Show me Luke Castellan." An image fills in the screen of a young man asleep on the floor of a cave.

"Luke," I hiss, "Luke!" His blue eyes pop open.

"Wha'?" He yawns, only half-awake and still trying to shake off sleep, " Who's there?" Through the Iris-message, I can see him reach for his sword.

He stops. "Oh. Pandora."

"Luke," I say, trying to keep my voice down, "where are you?"

He settles cross-legged down onto the ground. "Hades sent me to track the progress of some new army, didn't say anything else, so, right now, near as I can figure, I'm in California, and I'm not sure why."

A shaky laugh slips through my teeth. "Didn't he do the same thing to me?"

Instead of smiling or laughing like I expected him to, he frowns. "Very nearly. But, where are you?"

"Camp Half-Blood." I smile grimly, "I get to watch the kid. Luke, there's a whole lot of crap coming up soon- and I think I know which army you're hunting."

Luke sits up straight. "Tell me," he demands, his eyes glimmering with expectation.

"Well, for starters, there's an entire encampment of Roman demigods."

Luke shakes his head. "But that doesn't make any sense. Why would we-"

I cut him off. "Dude, I never said we were fighting Romans, but they fit into this somehow. Apparently one of our heroes is there. I think I'm right when I say you remember the Jackson kid?" Multiple emotions flicker across his face, but he nods. "Anyway, like I said, they're not the big problem here. Luke," I fix him with a stare as best I can through the water, "Gaea's rising against the gods. It's her army, her children and their friends that you have to find, and then we have to fight them without the help of the gods."

After a while, he finally says, "Well, that's not good."

"I know," I say, " And I get the feeling that things are going to heat up real soon."

He looks at me seriously. "Fine, but we need to stay in contact. Iris-message me when you can, and I'll do the same."

I agree, "Alright." The message cuts off, and I'm left with the sprayer making little pinging noises as water droplets fall into the metal sink. I gently reattach the sprayer to its holder and sneak back out through the white-washed halls of the Big House.

The depth of the night hides me. I become a wraith floating through a silent, empty camp, and looking around, I know that if we somehow fail, if Gaea takes us, then the camp may very well be like this forever.

Footsteps and voices coming from the North break the absolute silence. I hide behind the nearest cabin, which just happens to be Hephaestus. I send up a quick prayer that I won't set off any trip wires or explosives.

Footfalls sound on the porch steps.

"Annabeth," the speaker borders on agitated, "I told you, she's perfectly fine. We'll be off in the morning without a hitch. Now, can you please let me sleep, or in the morning, you'll have to sail without your lead mechanic- or just drag me onto the ship with my bed. Whichever. I'm not really picky."

Annabeth sighs. "I know, Leo, I know. It's just… that new girl made me nervous. I think I know her from somewhere, and I can't place it. I don't like that. It's not normal."

Leo is more gentle now. "Look, you've been stressing a lot. We all have. I'm starting to forget stuff, too."

"Maybe you're right."

I can hear the smile in Leo's voice. "I know I am. Now, you go to bed and let me sleep!"

A door's opening and closing follow a series of little beeping noises, and I can hear Leo no more. I wait to see Annabeth descend the steps and cross the expanse of the courtyard to the Athena cabin. Once she has gone inside, I leave my hiding spot. It's not that far to the Hades cabin, only about three cabins down.

I only give a little thought to the conversation I overhead. I knew that people would probably have a couple of suspicions, but I hurts a little that Annabeth distrusts me. Of course, I would distrust me, too.

I halt beside the Hades cabin, a little stymied as to how to get in without rousing my cabinmate. Suddenly, an idea strikes, and I sneak around to the side of the cabin. I cozy right up to the window and _snap_; the window springs open silently. I put my hands on the windowsill and heave, sliding myself over until my entire body is resting on top of my bed. I sit myself upright and snap to close the window. With a glance over at Nico, who is still sleeping, I pull the backpack off my shoulders.

Setting down the bag on the floor, I release the shakiness that has infected me since I learned of my mother's death. My heart seems to grow heavy as my head seems to float. Silent tears course down my face, and silent sobs shake my shoulders. I bend over the edge of the bed, holding myself together.

Mom. It hurts to think of her standing forever in the horribly yellow Fields of Asphodel, but at least it's not Punishment. Did I pass her last night? Did she see me, maybe even try to touch me? I don't know. Worse than that she's gone is that it's my fault. I know exactly what she was thinking, and I want to shake her, scream at her, ask her how she could be so foolish- but my mother was not a foolish woman. Chiron's words echo in my mind, _'She was found at the Door of Orpheus.' _My mother was trying to reach me again.

I lie down against my pillow, desperate for the peace of a restful sleep.

**Much better than the last ending, eh? I hope you enjoyed it, perhaps enough to show a little appreciation with a review? **

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